Page 80 of Viking Unchained

Now it all made sense . . .

He was about to meet the boy, who might very well be his own son, and he was more elated and frightened than he had ever been before.

They circled the side of the house, then walked toward the large barn surrounded by hides and hides of pasture. He could hear cows mooing, and he could smell the usual barnyard smells. Magnus was leaning against a railed fence watching some of the young calves chewing their cuds in the sunshine. A man about the same age, with short white hair, leaned on the fence next to him, talking, farmer to farmer, he supposed.

An older, gray-haired woman came out of a chicken coop and began to walk toward them, curiosity in her eyes. At the same time, the man talking to Magnus turned. They both appeared stunned.

"PopPop! I cleaned up all the cow poop. Now, can I—” Out of the open barn door, a boyling came skipping, his talk halting abruptly as he noticed Thorfinn approaching. He had black, rumpled hair, was missing two front baby teeth, and had scabs on his bare knees. He wore a tiny shert that read, GOT

MILK!

Blood drained from Thorfinn’s head, passing in waves down to his toes. His knees felt like butter. He put a fist to his mouth to suppress a groan.

Screeching to a halt just before them, the boyling craned his head to the side, staring up at him.

It was as if time stood still as everyone watched him and the child face each other, but only he and Lydia understood the significance of the moment. Lydia gave a little whimper beside him.

“Who are you?” the boyling demanded.

“Thorfinn Haraldsson,” he said in a croaky voice, a war of emotions rending him nigh speechless. He released Lydia’s grip on his hand and hunkered down to put himself at eye level.

“You’re big.”

“Yea, I am,” he said, smiling.

“Your eyes are the same as mine.”

He nodded.

“Wanna see the kittens in the barn?”

What he really wanted was to pull the child into his embrace and never let him go. Instead, he said, “I would like to see your kittens, above all else.”

With tears in his eyes, he took the boy’s tiny hand in his big one, and walked off with him, alone.

Five years of pain and grief were over. No matter what the future held for him, this was a moment of perfect happiness.

It was his son, Miklof. He did not care what anyone else said. He did not care what some modern dean-aye test proved.

Without a doubt, Mike was his lost boy, Miklof.

“Thank you,” he whispered, not sure if it was God, or the gods, or Lydia he was thanking. It did not matter.

This was why he had traveled through time.

Daddy knows best . . .

“Who is he?” her father asked as she entered the barn that evening for the second milking of the day.

“Magnus? He sure knows a lot about farming, doesn’t he?”

“No, not Magnus. You know who I’m talking about, girl. Your young man.”

“He’s not my young—” She halted at the disbelieving look in her father’s all-knowing eyes. “Thorfinn Haraldsson. He’s from . . . uh, Norway. He wants to be a Navy SEAL.”

Her father nodded at that. “For a second there, when you two were walking across the yard, I could have sworn he was Dave. Must have been the sun blinding me.”

She nodded, choked for words. That had been the reaction of everyone who’d met him so far today.